


At the Edge of the Forest

by Maniyacat



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Multi, Romance, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, tags updated as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maniyacat/pseuds/Maniyacat
Summary: More than 25 years ago, Pelican Town was at its heyday. The town enjoyed vibrancy, a close community, and a prospering economy. Yet, after the death of the town's patriarch and loved member, the vitality and magic slowly faded away, leaving the town as a shadow of its former self.When a new farmer moves onto the abandoned farm, can the valley be healed?





	1. Ex-Factor

It begins under a grove. Specifically, it is a trio of trees.

Pine. Oak. Maple. All children with wooden limbs wrapped around each other to provide a strange secluded haven in the center of this dense forest. Beneath the unorthodox canopy stands a grizzled and gray-haired man, who relishes this privacy. Or more accurately basks in the inherent pleasure nature gives him. He likes to believe the trees also enjoy his company. They have not said otherwise in all the years they’ve known each other. He is old, perhaps almost as old as the members of this sacred grove, but his fingers stroke their trunks with a youthful nimbleness. It is at this moment, when peace has descended in the evening twilight, that he decides to share his secret: he is ready for death.

A rough piece of bark falls at the statement, instantly hidden beneath a pile of drying leaves on the forest floor. Its absence leaves a gaping maw that pulses out thick sap-like tears. Maple cries. Oak wilts. Pine mourns. The man chuckles. He is touched by the emotions of his old comrades, but he bends down to scoop up the bark and set it back in place. The least he can do is support them. The bark slides in with a slick pop and Maple shows its tears.

“Hush my friends. I will not be gone forever,” his eyes twinkle, hiding the agony in his bones. It aches to bend down now, but his mission is not yet complete. He performs his rounds with complete serenity even as the bushes and the flowers and the saplings serenade his departure with falling leaves and petals. For decades, he was a permanent fixture in the lives within the forest as much as the forest had been in his life.

Soon, the sun sets, and the dawning moonlight clears a path through a sparse collection of trees to a body of water. He needs to talk to talk to one more. He walks slowly to the edge of the flowing water and waits. The steady river connects the mountain lake to the ocean and asks for little in return but love and patience. He grants it and the river promises to flood with fish for the upcoming season. The man is grateful, only partially because he is the only one who can talk it to and grant such favors.

He knows this land like the back of his hand. He knows its scars, its aged spots, and rougher edges. He also knows its softness. Who else would possess this knowledge once he passes? Who would appreciate the task of learning the forest and its needs? The townsfolk, whom he holds no grudges toward, are blind to how much the forest craves and devours and wants. And his time is on its last minutes, so he is trying to appease and appeal to the forest as best he can. He will not be here to calm the forest when it truly starts mourning, and the townspeople are affected by its ill-temper. They will not know the source of its pain, so they will blame the weather, though it will be fair, and Yoba.

Yoba is not to blame. The man’s burden has been carried by him alone for over forty years. There is no successor to shoulder its weight. His wife despises what Yoba’s path has done to their marriage. His son flees from city to city, resisting the pull. The man is all alone in this. He breathes in and out, appreciating the saltiness in the air. The last inhalation of a great scent. A lasting impression for his soon-to-be fading memory. If he looks down now, he will a young man with dark hair, chiseled frame, and a dream. If he looks down now, he will see a man bowed by duty, gnarled with weary tension as the forest leaches his vestigial strength. Luckily, his musings are interrupted with the snapping of a tree branch and a muttered curse.

“You’d fare better if you remembered you can’t surprise me, son,” he calls out. “Subtlety has never been your forte.”

“You’re one to talk, old man,” a younger man emerges from the tree line. His purple hair is pulled into a short ponytail, and he dons a think purple coat over a white shirt and dark jeans. Leaves stick to various parts of his clothing, but his eyes shine with unspoken emotion. He stands by his elder’s side and stares at the water.

“I tried to talk to Marie, but she said…that,” he stops. “You could let her go alone. It’s not too late to stay.”

“Marie wants us to be closer to our future grandchildren. A third is on the way. Besides, its time,” the elder starts.

“But you can’t leave,” the younger argues. “Only one man can quell the rage of the forest and stop the encroaching darkness. Marlon and I can’t do it all ourselves. We need Yoba’s blessing to protect this land.”

“The Junimos agree that it’s my time.”

“Klaus, the needs of Yoba are more important than family. You taught me that,” he stresses. Klaus chuckles.

“That I did. My devotion to Yoba’s will drove my family apart and now I have no successor. You have a marriage to think about. Learn from my mistakes.”

“You know I’d be willing—”

“Mica, you are a son in every way but blood, but your path differs from mine. You never shrugged your duties to the forest, yet you cannot abate the storm. You can only mitigate the damage. Max is my blood and he blames the forest for all his troubles. I refuse to let you bear the brunt of Yoba’s anger for his arrogance. It must be one of my line that answers the call.”

“And when you pass? What’s to happen?” Mica stares at his mentor, unable to keep his voice unaffected by his sorrow. “You are tied to Yoba.”

“The Junimos and I have an arrangement,” Klaus smiles, feeling a small lump in his pocket twitch. He lifts his gaze to the moon. “You must care for the Junimos in my absence and they will work with you to preserve this land. They are willing to teach you and guide you to the best of their ability.”

“The forest will die in your absence, won’t it?” Mica remarks sadly. Klaus guided him when everyone one left and cared for him like a son. A life without this great man as a constant presence was unimaginable. As if reading his thoughts, Klaus wraps an arm around his shoulder and points to the river.

“Life is always ebbing and flowing in the paths it must take, and we may not agree with the course, we should not fear the journey. It will take us where we need to go and guide us where Yoba plans. The Junimos will care for this place for a few years, but after that, the river will pass to you to direct its flow. You must follow the river’s path until the day it is passed off again. But do not worry about it yet, because you have time. Don’t mourn because I will always watch over you, in life and death.”

“You’re dying and yet you comfort me,” Mica laughs sourly. Klaus smiles.

“That’s a father’s duty,” he pulls out a golden key and puts it in Mica’s gloved hand. “This is the key to the cabin. I want you to look after it until the day my successor comes to claim it. That is the day you will become the mentor.”

“What makes you think any of Maxim’s kids will actually care about this place?”

Klaus’ smile turns bitter, but its true enough to reach the corner of his eyes.

“I can feel it.”

 

She has not been kissed like this since high school.

Vrena is still wearing her work clothes, not by choice, but her companion for the night enjoyed ripping off her pantyhose and is currently pulling apart her blouse with enough fervor that a button broke off. All the while, his lips are on hers, staining his face a deep shade of red as he repeatedly sticks his tongue down her throat. Her mind wanders.

**Joja stock increases by 16% at the end of the quarter!**

She pulls away. To think or to breathe, she cannot remember which, but the man takes it as a sign to move his lips down the column of her throat to her newly exposed breasts. She sighs. Another Wednesday night wasted.

A few hours ago, she went to a club with some co-workers. They were celebrating something, a promotion or a retirement, she can’t care which. Tamara and Charlotte were still mad about something dumb. Quinn glared at her with unbridled anger and Vrena hates prissy attitudes, so she abandoned them for the bar and did shots with strangers. Drank some more and picked up some early morning company. Said company focuses on her breasts like it is a geometry problem. How much licking and biting is needed to cover the entire surface area? Her eyes linger on the apartment walls.

Were they always this bare? Even the white corners are peeling off, displaying an old gray color. She could leave it. It certainly adds character. But if Estelle visits, she would throw a fit. Vrena has no patience. Perhaps she can ask the landlord. Unfortunately, she does not recall meeting him. Or her? There is a dying plant on her shelf that she needs to throw out. The dead leaves are an unspoken memory and she shuts her eyes. Her sheets are so scratchy. Rent is due next week. Her lease is up a few days after that. Should she move? Or maybe she’ll just stay in this hazy existence?

_Why is she doing this?_

The man misinterprets her face as pleasure and Vrena is pulled out of her thoughts by a sharp sting to her nipple that is soon cooled by saliva. She signs again, but with satisfaction. There is something nice about being desired. She hadn’t felt this kind of passion in months. To feel needed to some extent by someone who would value her presence forces some emotion out of her. She rocks against him, testing the waters of his readiness, eyes still focused on the ceiling before resting her thighs on his hips. The lights are off. Good.

Vrena lifts his face carefully. His eyes are the only things she can see. And they sparkle with something—lust or another feeling so unfamiliar. Luckily, the lack of light blurs most of his face.

“My lips are up here,” she whispers. She has needs and a shift starting in six hours. Whether or not she receives a good orgasm to get through said shift relies on this man’s talent. His feeling on the matter…the aftermath of their encounter can be a topic for another day.

He— _William maybe?_ He looks like one—give her a smolder. A part of her should feel bad, but she lacks the urge to care. She reaches and slides up her skirt, revealing a distinct lack of underwear. The man takes note and moves his hand down, sticking two fingers into her core with little finesse. She cries out, but if it was in pain or pleasure she does not know. Sometimes the hurt is just as good as the gratification.

**An estimated revenue of $21.5 billion, Joja Corporation is looking to expand.**

“You’re such a slut,” he growls and then hovers over her, large hand resting on her neck. Oh, not too innocent then.

Vrena moans like a whore, goading him on and earning an extra finger. She wants to get away from it all. The sterility of her walls. The rough cotton sheets. The weight of the ring on her finger that has long since lost its promises. The man above her is everything and nothing. Despite his skill, he is inexperienced with frigid bitches like her and when he enters, it hurts; this is his most attractive quality. The ability to impart something to combat the next twenty-four hours of her dull existence.

A car passes her building, and its light briefly shines through the apartment window. Just a regular result of city traffic catches her eye on the adjacent wall, giving a quick glimpse of what anyone would see when they look at her life. A woman with an arched back and neck, choking on desperation and the man above her, thick hands wrapped around her neck and waist, ready to leave bruises across her skin. She digs her fingers into the sheets. The picture looks good. They could look good together, but his image is all wrong. He is not the right man and she’s not his right woman, and her heart aches to replace the reflection with the memory that haunts her apartment. But just as quickly as it came the vision fades away and her life plummets back into the darkness that she knows. The man takes her sudden emotionality as receptive and increases his temp. She wishes she could give him what he wants—that validation. If only she knew his name or cared to learn it.

She has not been kissed like this since high school and it was so long ago that she felt useful.

Her mind drifts away.

Thursday finds her sitting on the train at 6:45 am. Earlier that morning, she kicked out William ( _?_ ) and threw away his number. Fuck, he left his number and her face darks at the thought. One-night stands are her only speed right now. She wears more makeup than she usually does. The application covers her bruised throat and lips. She works at a mega-conglomerate. Vrena needs to appear perfect in every aspect.

No matter where she goes, work and its expectations follow. There are Joja Corp signs all over the train, advertising drinks, tv dinners, and snacks. They advertise electronics, furniture, cooking ware, and tires. They display perfect homes, perfect people, perfects lives. She finds it ironic. A perfect company hiring imperfect people.

She gets off at 7:25 and walks into a coffee shop to buy an expresso. She hates the taste but needs the energy to make it through the day. The streets are lined with Joja advertisements, commercials play on the nearby televisions and radios as she walks through the tired city.

In any other state of mind, Zuzu is the perfect city. Each section appeals to a different class. The hipsters and new-aged youth have claimed the east end, where graffiti and public protests are promoted by the coffee shops and weed shacks and independent businesses. When she’s feeling daring, Vrena takes her sister there to buy new beanies and art supplies. But she would never stay longer than an hour or two. Those people are always too bright and colorful.

The west end is populated by people like her and unlike her. Serious work ethics who burn themselves in the daily grind to improve the lives of others. They inhabit buildings that are shabby huts compared to the towering offices and skyscrapers. Mostly offices for business, newspaper printing, television stations, fashion, and any other enterprises have their home in the west end. But the people make sure it’s more grey than colorful. They either own the business or work for others. They curse and scream and fuck and fight and get high in the thunderous night, actions hidden by a foggy filter and a lack of clear sound. In the morning, they go back to pretending that nothing horrible exists at all.

The south is sparsely populated in comparison because it houses the families. The ones who want the convince of the location, but not the sin and temptation that stains its neighboring boroughs. It’s the naïve side and no one really knows what happens there. The north end, in comparison, is full of entertainment. The stadium, the museums, the concert hall and bars, and clubs—all the ways Zuzu is memorable exists in the north like a guiding light of where you wish you could stay forever. That is what Vrena expected when she moved to Zuzu, only to become part of the machine. It is not a bad machine or a horrible machine. It chews people up and spits them out in the opposite direction. Simply tiring.

Her building is about five minutes away and her feet are already beginning to ache in her heels, but she finds herself frozen in front of a newsstand. The print is fresh, and the distributor is slowly laying out the copies. Most printed papers are released at 8, but this must be important. When the title registers, she knows it is.

**Is Life Really Better with Joja? Insider claim company falsified earnings.**

Her palms sweat. She snatches the paper from the front, ignoring protests from the vendor and scans for the main segment portion. She ignores the election, the war, the disease and only focuses on the smiling face of the corporation’s CEO.

_Recent accusations from an insider in one of the Joja Corp offices claim that the company misled investors with its reported earnings for last year’s Summer earnings. CEO Richter Simon denies these claims, stating “We have every intention of conducting an audit to prove that these claims are false and baseless. We have strived to be open and honest about releasing our financial information to the public. Joja takes these claims very seriously and will handle the matter. We have had a successful year and will continue to expand as we are dedicated to improving the lives and livelihoods of every citizen on the continent.”_

“Hey, miss, you have to buy the paper!” She crumples and marches off. No one calls after her again.

 

Frosted fingertips clack furiously across the gray keyboard, its tapping joining the chorus of office music produced by the thirty-four members of the Joja Corp Accounting Team. Men and women, all stuffed into gray-slated cubicles, hunch over their blue monitor screens to monotonously enter financial data into spreadsheets. There is no time for double or triple-checking accounts as quality control is not today’s goal. The end of quarter deadline looms and senior management wanted the reports yesterday.

In Cubicle C7, Vrena takes a moment to stretch her fingers, slyly gazing at the motion of the security camera. Her head is pounding, her chest aches, and it is all due to deep-seated misery. She rolls her shoulders, looking for something else to do, but the movement causes her eye to catch her legal pad.

At the top is the clipping she stole and beneath, written in sloppy print, are the numbers. She tracked the company’s funds to notice similarities in the past three quarters that, to any auditor, would look like a natural business cycle occurrence. On the books, Joja is roughly in line with market consensus, with a profit a few gold shorter than expected for the end of Winter, which is offset by the opening of locations in smaller towns. The reports internally and externally all applaud the new direction the company is taking that allows rapid expansion, growth, and sales. At the meeting earlier today, they all cheered for a job well done and received their Winter bonuses.

Vrena had waited for the end of the meeting to talk to her boss.

Now she is at a crossroads.

Her notepad shows the original numbers. It also shows the number of injections that would have to have been made to reach those numbers. She wrote every number, the original and the doctored, every single inconsistency that she could find in the past five hours spanning the last few quarters. All the differentiating numbers the team—her team—put on paper to bring in more investors and keep the existing ones happy. She is supposed to be happy.

Not a single thought was given to how it might reflect on her team, on her, if a private auditor was hired and found out. The feeling burns as she stares at the motto printed above her desk: “Life’s better with Joja”. Like a threat for compliance. It is harder to breathe now, knowing the trust. Her fingers tremble to do something…to do nothing…or anything else.

_There are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself._

The words flutter through her mind like a fleeting dream, a memory wrapped in muscled but soft forearms and face whiskers. The words of her grandfather.

Vrena hadn’t thought about the old man in years, but she carries around the one thing he ever left her—a letter. A decaying letter in her drawer, but her hand creeps forward and wraps around the cool metal of the filing cabinet handle to open it. The package is fraying, but she rips the seal and pulls out a browning paper with rips and tears around the edges from age. Then she stops.

She looks at her monitor. She can see herself faintly on the blue screen. All her life, she has lived in a city. Her spoilt status is written all over her like a permanent marker she’ll never scrub off. Perfect makeup. Perfect hair. Perfect blouse. Her fingernails are professionally done and her teeth permanently bleached. There is not a mark out of place. The way her cheeks are slightly hallowed beneath the bone is purposeful and her complexion covers the dark circles beneath her eyes without spending too much on concealer. And yet, under the perfect disguise, there are guilty eyes and cracks. So many cracks. She is not cut out for the country life her grandfather led and the letter promises. She is not.

Vrena turns off her computer.

 

_"Dear Vrena,_

_If you are reading this, you must be in dire need of a change._

_The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life…real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong._

_I have enclosed the deed to that place…my pride and joy: Wilhem Farm. It is located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It is the perfect place to start your new life._

_This was my most precious gift of all, and now it is yours. I know you'll honor the family name, my dear. Good luck._

_Love, Grandpa_

_P.S. If Lewis is still alive say hi to the old guy for me, will ya?"_

 


	2. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Robin sets down the phone, Pelican Town quietly erupts with renewed vigor—new blood is arriving, and all Sebastian wants is a new pack of cigarettes.

“Hey, Lewis, what can I do for you?.... Really they sold the property after all this time….I know it’s a shame he never decided to move back but….Marie called you….She has a buyer!.....This is great news…..Yeah, I can check on the foundation in the morning….See you soon.”

The moment Robin sets down the phone, Pelican Town quietly erupts with renewed vigor—new blood is arriving, and all Sebastian wants is a new pack of cigarettes.

The son of carpenter and step-something to two scientists should have prepared him for the daily bump and grind of waking up at 8 or 9 in the morning, grabbing breakfast, and going about his day. But Sebastian does not work on the same schedule as the rest of his family. If anything, he tries to avoid waking up in the morning. His true awareness kicks in when the afternoon is slowly blending into evening hours, and he’s finished his fourth cup of coffee, settled in his den for hours of programming and coding until human interaction is required, i.e. Sam texts. However, today interrupts his routine.

Sebastian can’t sleep. He has spent the last four hours staring at the darkened walls of his room. With every toss and turn, the ever-elusive sleep creeps farther away. Eventually, he gives up. He learned to do that a long time ago. His mood will suffer for it, but this kind of deprivation can only be cured by a large mug filled with coffee. The promise of a morning comfort is enough to rouse him from bed and he trudges up the steps onto the first floor of the property.

His mother built her dream home by hand, and the love she has for her family is palpable. It covers the walls. There are photos of her and Demetrius, from their first date to their wedding day to Maru’s birth. And then the pictures of Maru. Maru losing her first tooth. Maru winning a science competition. Maru graduating primary, junior high, and high school. Her first day working at Harvey’s clinic. Sebastian grimaces. He disappeared from photos around the time Maru started saying her first words. It’s like he’s the phantom in his own home. At least he pays rent.

The coffee pot is empty when he checks. Someone’s drained and cleaned everything, possibly Maru, and there’s nothing left. He checks the cabinets. Twice. The lack of coffee grounds in pristine red containers makes him curse his luck. Then he looks at the cabinets again. They’re mostly bare outside of some crackers, pretzels, and nut grain bars. He opens the fridge. It’s absent of any food besides some old milk, goat cheese, a pack of strawberries, and a bag of spinach that should have been served a few days ago. They’ve literally run out of everything.

That’s the problem with busy households. They get distracted by their projects and forget that they themselves are projects that need fuel. He shakes his head and goes to his room, throws on a heavier black hoodie to combat the Winter Chill, and grabs his card. He’ll ask Robin to reduce his rent for the month since he’s buying groceries for the house. Then he departs on the long walk to Joja Mart.

The moment he steps outside, he wishes he had his umbrella. The sky thunders and streaks with lightning. Even Linus is well hidden within his hut. Days like this are common in the Valley, but it wasn’t always. When he was younger, he and the other children would listen as Granny told them about how the Valley used to be. How the town was perpetually glowing, rain or shine, and the forests teemed with hardy wood and fresh foraging treasures and the rivers and lakes swelled with fresh catches. That was the town Granny knew.

Now, you could feel the depression as if everyone living here was combatting against a gray screen. The oozing worries of parents about why their children still lived at home and the wonderings of young adults about why there were still trapped in this backwoods town was all tied to one thing—the lack of economic opportunity. Most of the previous town inhabitants had left when Sebastian was a kid and the bus stopped running, leaving more people stranded here as opposed to seeing the sights. He admits he would have left a long time ago if he had gone to college, but he couldn’t let Robin take on that kind of debt and lose her home for him to take classes. At least he has computer skills to help him earn money for now.

The sky is still gray and thundering as his boots squish in the dirt nearer to Joja Mart. He feels every centimeter that his boots sink in and he wonders if he will too, eventually. His fingers itch for a cigarette. He feels around in his pocket. He doesn’t have a cigarette. He smoked the last one yesterday. His thoughts drift after that…should he go to the pier and smoke or go to the Saloon and grab a coffee or get some sleep. The last one sounds the most appealing, but he enters Joja Mart, wincing at the shine of the fluorescent lights clashing with the dark blue shelves and light blue tiles.

Sebastian goes through the aisles and grabs ingredients for spaghetti, pumpkin soup, and vegetable stew. He loads the cart with meat and fish, some snacks, and, after some thought, a rhubarb pie. If Demetrius wants anything, he’s a grown man and can buy his own damn food. He gets through checkout with some new coupons that he immediately applies to have some savings and walks with his bags in hand until he’s going through the town square and another flash of lightning finds his hands in his pockets. Right, no cigarettes…Fuck.

Five minutes later, Sebastian stands at the register of the general store with the groceries from Joja Mart at his feet, earning a glare from Pierre who is stocking shelves, and two packs of cigarettes and a new lighter on the counter. The person manning the counter has violet hair, chipped black nails, and a tired expression, but it brightens into a soft, sweet smile when she notices who has arrived. It’s the same sweet smile that makes his stomach turn and his cheeks a little red. Abigail, ignorant or purposefully ignoring his reaction, leans toward him, blowing a big pink bubble with the wad of gum in her pink lips.

“It’s the only way you were going to be rung up,” she grabs his items and starts scanning. He nods, partially forgetting what he wants to say.

_How are you?_

_Did you think about what I said?_

_Could you love me?_

_Can I set you free?_

Sebastian’s known Abigail for a long time. But the way she smiles when she’s happy and the sound of her laugh makes him forget his words and the times when they use to be more comfortable with one another. He can’t remember the last time they had a normal conversation—where he wasn’t hiding what he meant. Things might have changed when it was just the two of them or when he became more socially awkward than he already is.

And it is not Sam’s reasoning. It’s not because she’s a girl. Abigail has always been attractive, both when all she had were her blue eyes and brown hair and now with her purple tresses. If he’s honest, and he mostly is in respect with himself, Penny has a sweet good-natured smile, but where Penny is caring, Abigail’s grown to be fierce and bold, unafraid to challenge the world as she knows it. She is not a coward like he is and sometimes he wishes he was brave enough, so she could loosen whatever chains were holding her back in this town. Like a romanticized knight he could set her free and she could fly away. Sometimes, he hopes that she wants to leave. Maybe then he’d have the courage to ask and leave with her and Pelican town to become a foggy memory.

It’s this daydreaming that allows him to miss whatever she’s been saying for the past few minutes and he blinks when he checks back into the conversation.

“I swear, it’s all they’re gonna talk about,” she mutters.

“Wait, what?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“Were you listening?” but she doesn’t wait for his answer. “Robin told Mom that there’s a new farmer coming in Spring and Lewis hired her to check on the Wilhem property.”

“Why would someone move to Pelican Town?” They share a laugh.

“Maybe he’s a criminal running from the law.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why not. It would make this town a little more interesting,” she grins and blows another bubble. Then, in a quick movement, she throws something into the bag with the other items and tells him the amount.

“Really?”

“It’s for me. I’ve been covering for you since you haven’t responded to Sam the past couple of days. The least you can do is pay for my gum.” He rolls his eyes but hands her his card, frowning as she reaches into the bag to grab the new pack and start chewing a new piece.

“Between you and Haley, you could keep this place running.”

“Nah, too expensive.” Abigail shrugs because she’s cool like that and Sebastian could never pull off her unaffected routine without exploding or running away and it’s amazing that’s she is the way she is, and she leans in closer, looking right into this face, and he instantly regrets not showering or washing the hoodie or—

“Hot date last night?”

“Huh?”

“You keep zoning out.” She points at the bag that is still on the counter.

“No, ah, I haven’t slept well. Tried to fix 30 lines of code on 3 hours of sleep and the house lost power when Demetrius’ experiment blew up,” he blurts out and Abigail winces in sympathy.

“Maybe you should stay in and sleep. Nothing will happen at the Saloon tonight besides Sam thinking he can finally kick your ass at pool.”

“He never has, and he never will kick my ass at pool. I need to get these home anyway. Thanks,” he grabs all the bags and turns to walk out of the store when he notices there are more people inside the store than he expected.

“A new farmer? On the Wilhem property?”

“That place has been abandoned for over twenty years.”

“Hard to imagine anyone else moving in.”

“Do you think he’ll be young or old?”

“This Spring is going to be interesting.”

He shook his head and walked out as they gossiped. That’s the way it was in a small town—everyone had opinions about everything.

 

The town launches into a tizzy. The last newcomers arrived a while ago, and the women always loved to sink their teeth into juicy gossip. For those who spent their life in Pelican Town, however, there was a muted silence that passed over them whenever the subject came up. The Pelican Town of Robin’s youth held memories of Klaus’ kindness and patience, his wife’s charity and exuberance, and their son’s shyness. They lent to the mysticism of the Valley; such private people so immersed in helping others. There was never a shortage of free fruits from Klaus’ farm or a new dessert from Marie’s oven. Still, that was a long time ago. Last she heard, Klaus and Marie moved away when their son had children, and no one came back in over twenty years.

When she received the call from Mayor Lewis, she tried to hide her shock the best she could. No one ever thought Marie would sell the land after her husband’s passing. Even if Max never returned. She sighs as she stares at the property. Today is the day the farmer arrives and it's surprisingly a beautiful day, but she tuts at the overgrown weeds and the forest encroaching on the once enchanting property. At least the ponds are full of water and the cabin is stable, despite lacking a kitchen and a bathroom. The outhouse is on the other side of the property, near the shell that once was the greenhouse. Robin wonders who came and tour everything down to its bare bones, because the Wilhem house used to be much larger. However, she was not paid to wish for the property to be in better condition. Maybe the new farmer would be willing to come to her for advice on how to spruce the place up.

There is talk about who the new farmer might be. A soldier. A disgruntled youth running away for a life of seclusion. A criminal. All these portraits of a former life all lead to the same assumption: the new farmer is male. Not that Robin minds, but she hopes she won't lie that she is placing her bets on the new arrival being a woman who is a nature enthusiast. Caroline is keeping track of the bets, so tomorrow Robin cannot wait to hear the results.

“Robin, you’re here. Perfect,” she turns and smiles as the mayor approaches. He’s glowing with unrestrained glee even if he’s not smiling. The mood is palpable.

“Hi Lewis,” she greets. “Is there anything else you need for the cabin?”

“Not for the cabin I think, but I do want to double check and make sure everything’s in order.” he wets his mouth. “That said, do you think you could bring the new farmer here?”

“You want me for the welcoming committee,” she smiles. “I’m flattered. Can I get a name?”

“Verena.”

 

“Hello! You must be Verena. I’m Robin, the local carpenter. Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival. The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.” The “farmer” is different than anything the town predicted.

The woman is young, dark skin and long auburn hair. She wears jeans, a white shirt, and a brown jacket. Her nails are long and painted, face manufactured and beautified, the windows to her soul obscured by a large pair of black sunglasses. Robin can already tell this girl is not cut out to be a farmer, but she holds back her opinion.

Verena looks at her and pushes her shades on top of her head, revealing a pair of greenish-grey eyes. Klaus’ eyes. _No one guessed that._ She fixes Robin with a polite smile and hoists her backpack higher on her back.

“Just Vrena, please,” her voice is smooth but controlled, and her accent reminds Robin of Jodie’s.

“Vrena then.”

They walk to the cabin, with Robin filling the girl in on the town’s need to knows. Vrena, however, seems to be more interested in looking around at all the trees and bushes.

“First time in Pelican Town?” she asks knowingly. The girl blinks and nods. Robin gives her a comforting smile if only to ease the awkwardness.

“I’m trying to see if I recognize any of these from the pictures,” Vrena admitted.

“That would be hard to do, considering it’s been years. Don’t worry, the town itself is fairly small. You’ll recognize things soon enough and,” Robin reaches into her pocket and hands the girl a folded packet. “I have a map for you. My house is right up the path near the mountains. If you ever need anything, feel free to come by and ask questions.”

The girl nods again and then the pair reach the property.

“This is Wilhem Farm,” Robin announces, and the girl’s eyes widen as she takes in the overgrowth, the trees, stones, and weeds covering the property. “What’s the matter? Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

The girl grumbles beneath her breath but follows Robin to the front door.

“…And here we are, your new home,” she says it just in time for Lewis to exit. He does a double take when he acknowledges Klaus’ granddaughter, but his easy-going smile comes back and reaches out a hand to shake.

“Ah, the new farmer. Welcome! I’m Lewis, Mayor of Pelican Town. You know, everyone’s been asking about you. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. It’s quite a big deal!”

“Grandpa says hi,” she says quietly and then peaks around him to look inside the cabin. “Did they have a majority of the building torn away for structural stability?”

Robin chokes back a snigger. “Possibly. It’s been years since anyone has been on the property. More recently, its frequent visitors have been forest animals and kids playing in the weeds.”

“So…You’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house. Very ‘rustic’.” The girl looks at Lewis blandly and Robin cannot hold back a laugh this time. The girl is teeming with sass. Sebastian and Maru would love to hang out with her.

“Rustic? That’s one way to put it…’Crusty’ might be a little more apt, though.”

“Rude,” Lewis turns back to Vrena. “Don’t listen to her, Verena. She’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades.”

Robin screeches and folds her arms with a hmmph. Vrena does not bother correcting Lewis, taken with the building in front of her and merely shrugs.

“I’m tempted to take her on the offer.”

Mayor Lewis shakes his head, but hand her a key and some paperwork that she needs to fill out and deliver to his office. “You must be tired from the long journey. You should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself. The townspeople would appreciate that. Oh, I almost. If you have anything to sell, just place it in that box there and I’ll come by and collect it. Well…Good luck!”

They leave Vrena on the porch of her new home with her designer jeans and jacket and shades and nails. If Robin had not been there or given her the map, the woman could claim that the interaction never took place and the farm was still abandoned. As it was, after moving in, the girl disappeared for a week.

_She is definitely a Wilhem._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, there is dialogue directly from the game. That is because I am writing this as I play it. My first playthrough of SV took me into Fall, and by then, I was sure I wanted to write a Stardew Valley fic featuring my favorite characters. However, to stay in character as much as possible, I am playing the game as I write the fic to have consistency. In case there is a delay in updates, it is due to the fact that I have to finish cataloging what I want in the chapter from the dialogue/actions in-game. Thank you for reading.


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